Impavido
by LindseyBee
Summary: Melody Ginger used to be a scared little girl before the car accident that permanently damaged her brain and rid her of all feelings of fear. Craving the experience of human emotion again, she seeks out a particular doctor to help mend her broken mind in an unconventional way.
1. Prologue

**Melody Ginger used to be a scared little girl before the car accident that permanently damaged her brain and rid her of all feelings of fear. Craving the experience of human emotion again, she seeks out a particular doctor to help mend her mind in a quite unconventional way. **

I've actually been wanting to make this into a creation of my own with my own characters, but I'd like to test the idea out through fan fiction first and I think Crane is the perfect candidate for the story. Tell me what you think please!

XXX

"Damage to the amygdala…"

She brings her head up from the pillow, but quickly rests it back down because the movement is inevitably too much for her body to handle. She meets the doctors gaze, who is staring back with his eyebrows creased in concern, and says tonelessly, "What does the amygdala do?"

"Its primary responsibility is to control and regulate the emotion of fear. Due to the severity of the accident… it's unlikely the damage can be reversed," explains the doctor.

His explanation is so riveting, it almost doesn't register. Almost. Melody expects some sort of shock or horror to settle in, but if anything, she feels rather indifferent. "So you're saying I can't feel fear anymore?"

"Or any branch of the emotion, yes." His frown deepens. Melody is almost angry at his reaction. She expects some sort of positive message, something to look forward to; perhaps a surgery that could reverse the condition, but all he does is look at her with that same fucking frown and pitying expression and she absolutely hates it.

"Could you recommend a psychiatrist?" she asks, with a certain edge of irritability.

"I suppose… what exactly are you looking for help with?"

"My brain is broken," says Melody with sudden hostility. "I need a doctor that'll help me, rather than inform me that there's _no way _to reverse this, and not even attempt to do so."

The doctor looks away, unable to meet Melody's vicious expression. He understands her frustration, though. While fear is mostly viewed as a negative emotion, it has its defensive mechanisms as well… And not to mention that surprise is a branch-off of said emotion… and who would want to live without the ability to feel surprised?

"I'll see what I can do, Miss Ginger." He swallows nervously. "I promise."


	2. Chapter 1

**Melody Ginger used to be a scared little girl before the car accident that permanently damaged her brain and rid her of all feelings of fear. Craving the experience of human emotion again, she seeks out a particular doctor to help mend her broken mind in an unconventional way. **

Chapter 1

XXX

The doctor that's recommended to her is a balding, middle-aged man who Melody wants no business with. He's not a pill-pusher - which is exactly what she wanted. In fact, he's suggested that it would be _far _more efficient for her not to take any medication, as it may further damage the parts of her brain that have been injured. She holds her temper as long as she can muster, but by the second session, she's had enough of his "professional opinions."

"I can't feel," she snaps during their second useless session. "_I can't feel_. I can't be the only one that's experienced this before. There has to be something that stimulates the amygdala. Anything."

Doctor Meyers leans forward with his head tilted to the side, as though taking in her aggression. He sighs and informs her, "Melody, I cannot recommend you take medication under these circumstances. This is like nothing I've seen before."

"I can't _fucking _feel," Melody hisses. "Do you understand that? All I feel is anger, I'm so fucking angry all the time. I'm driving my fiancé up the wall." She feels tears of frustration well up in her eyes, and allows them to pour down her face with ease. In the past, she would've been embarrassed to cry in front of anyone other than those close to her, but due to her _lack of _embarrassment, she's able to make an easy exception. And the exception only increases her desperation. "Please, I need something."

Doctor Meyers sighs and peers into Melody's patient file with a frown. He takes a pen out of his desk drawer and marks something down. Melody strains her neck to see what he's writing.

_Increased patient aggression. _

"That's all you're going to write?" she snaps. She digs her finger nails into the chair she's sitting in until she feels enough pain to ease her distress, at least a little bit. "Any normal person would have anxiety about this whole situation. I was taking xanax before all this, now what use is it to me? I don't _have _anxiety. Which should be a good thing, right? No fear, no anxiety, nothing. I could do anything I wanted without fear of failure or rejection." Doctor Meyers offers her a tissue, as the flow of her tears has increased, and she takes it with hesitation and blows her nose. "You don't understand."

"I'm sure I don't," says Doctor Meyers calmly. "I suppose, if anything, I could prescribe an anti-depressant to ease your feelings of depression and anger. Zoloft is a good choice, I've found it very helpful with many of my other patients. It increases the release of serotonin-"

"_I KNOW WHAT IT DOES!" _roars Melody. She stands up in her chair and begins kicking at Doctor Meyer's desk, causing a flood of paperwork to flurry around the room. Doctor Meyers waits calmly for her episode to end, but his lack of reaction only further infuriates her. She comes toward him and presses her face inches from his, her eyes filled with tears and her forehead creased with frustration. "If you're not going to fucking help me, I'll find someone else," she threatens. "And that's one less patient to help fill your paycheck, Doctor."

Doctor Meyers adjusts his glasses and sighs. Melody thinks she sees him briefly roll his eyes. "Miss Ginger, I would greatly appreciate it if you would take a seat."

She abides reluctantly by his request and sits down with a huff, her arms crossed and her finger nails pressed into her skin with the intention of drawing blood.

"You can switch psychiatrists if you think that would suit your needs," he continues, "but I can almost guarantee you that you will never come across a doctor who has dealt with this kind of situation before."

"I like how you say _almost_," Melody responds. She smiles a tiny grin, more of a smirk really, sort of as a spiteful _fuck you _to the abomination of a doctor sitting before her.

Doctor Meyers says nothing, but instead glances up at the clock in relief. "Melody, my three-thirty will be here shortly. I'm afraid we'll have to continue our discussion of this topic next week." He spins in her chair to face his desk, takes out of small sheet of paper, and scribbles down a prescription. "This is a prescription for Zoloft," he explains, placing it in her hand. "If you feel you should need it, don't hesitate to have it filled."

Melody crumples up the paper throws it at him. It bounces off his bald head and falls to the floor.

"That won't be necessary," she says acidly, standing up. She stands by the doorway for a moment and says with deep sarcasm, "Have a lovely evening, doctor" before slamming the door behind her.

XXX

Melody arrives back at her apartment about an hour later, stumbling into the doorway before collapsing drunkenly on the sofa in the living room. She had stopped for a _few _beers beforehand, and when her fiance enters the room and immediately takes notice of her intoxicated state, he clicks his tongue in disappointed and sits beside her. "So I'm guessing therapy didn't go so well, huh? You think drinking will solve that?"

"I'm twenty-one, it's legal," grumbles Melody. "And it's not therapy," she continues, her face against a pillow. She tilts her head up to look at her fiancé and informs him, "It's more medication management than anything. Or at least, it _should _be, but this whack-job won't give me anything." She sighs, though it comes out as more of a broken-sounding whimper. "John, it's been three weeks since the accident, and nothing's improved. I was hoping something would improve. I was hoping the doctors were _wrong_."

"Well you can always be grateful for that, can't you? Having hope?" He leans forward to kiss her hair, then lifts her up from the couch so that's she facing him. "Babe, three weeks isn't a long time. Especially not for extensive trauma to the brain."

A tear makes its way down Melody's cheek. She doesn't bother to brush it away. "I feel like I'm in a nightmare. But the only difference is, I'm not afraid."

"I wish I could understand, Mel, I really do. The only thing I can say is - oh, hold up, you gotta watch this newscast." He reaches for the television remote and turns the volume up considerably, as though Melody's inability to feel fear has impacted her hearing in some way. "This nutcase got out of Arkham a few weeks ago. My supervisors have been pushing me for days to go after him-"

"You're a DEA agent, what does that nut have to do with your office?"

"Well, he's peddling drugs, isn't he? Although not much of a recreational value… unless you get off on being terrified." He chuckles bitterly before glancing at Melody, whose expression is stone-cold. His laughter ceases immediately. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking when I said that-"

"I know," says Melody softly. She shakes her head and replies playfully, "After all, do you ever think?"

"Fuck you," says John in response. He nudges her elbow teasingly, and Melody stares at him for a brief moment before leaning forward and kissing him full on the mouth. He kisses her back easily before she pulls away and wanders to his neck, planting light kisses along his collar bone. She brings her mouth to his ear and whispers,

"Even if I can't feel fear, I can still feel _you_."

She swings her leg up and positions herself on top of his lap, whilst also rubbing his thigh very gently.

"I like the way you think, babe," replies John. He has a glazed over expression of lust as he picks Melody up and holds her over his shoulder, heading toward the bedroom. "But let's not make a mess on our nice new couches."

"But making a mess his half the fun," says Melody as he rests her on the bed. She pouts seductively and reaches for her shirt, pulling it off with ease. "Kiss me, you little bitch."

John's lips curl into a smirk. "Your wish is my command."

XXX

Johnathan Crane. The man who escaped Arhkam. That was his name, wasn't it?

Long after John had fallen asleep, Melody lay curled up in bed, her knees pressed against her chest. She was experiencing the unpleasant feeling of a hole cut straight out of her throat and a burning in her stomach, as though the acid was leaking out through her skin. Even during the sex with her fiancé, she had not stopped thinking about the man with the scarecrow mask who got off on scaring the living hell out of his victims.

_Couldn't scare me_, she thinks, almost with relish, until she realizes that's exactly what is fueling her current nightmarish situation.

_I wonder what they feel_. She thinks of his victims, the way they must scream so loudly and beg so desperately that it _must _pierce his corrupt conscience in some way. Does he feel no regret, or does he simply ignore it? Do their screams haunt his nightmares, or does he think of them as pleasant dreams? She wonders what she would see - _if _she could see anything, what with her newfound _disability…_

_Couldn't scare me_, she thinks again, this time with a sense of curiosity lurking in the back of her mind. He couldn't scare her, that much was for sure… She was broken, her mind was broken and unfixable and as much as she hated every second of it, it was inevitable and there was nothing she could do. She was unfixable, irreversible; the doctors had even informed her of that. And after all, they were _medical _professionals. They obviously knew what they were talking about. Of course they did. He absolutely could not scare her, no matter how hard he tried… It was impossible, he _could not _scare her…

...

...

…or _could _he?


	3. Chapter 2

**Melody Ginger used to be a scared little girl before the car accident that permanently damaged her brain and rid her of all feelings of fear. Craving the experience of human emotion again, she seeks out a particular doctor to help mend her mind in a quite unconventional way. **

Chapter 2

TW: Mentions of self-harm.

XXX

Melody awakes the next morning to the sound of her fiancés shuffling as he gets dressed for work. She sits up groggily, reaching to brush the sleep and other nastiness out of her eyes, and turns to John with a smile. She's so incredibly grateful to wake up to him each morning, especially currently. Over the last few weeks, she's learned quickly that he is one of the only people able to make her briefly forget about her regrettable situation, and more importantly, make her feel less numb.

"Oh, hey, morning," says John upon noticing her. "You look like you didn't sleep a wink last night, are you feeling okay?"

"I d-d-didn't," replies Melody, struggling to stifle a yawn. "I'm putting it on you. You didn't tire me out enough last night." She winks and flashes a toothy grin, with an obvious amount of allure embedded underneath her expression. John chuckles and comes toward her, embracing her in his arms and gently pressing his lips against hers.

"Well I'll be sure to do my job better tonight, then," he says with a slight growl.

"I'm sure you will," says Melody with a chuckle. "Oh ah, before you go, I was curious about something."

"Sex related or…?"

"Work related," says Melody shortly. "That shit going on with Crane, the dick that your office has been up your ass about-"

"What about him?" interrupts John with a sudden edge of curiosity.

"I was just wondering if your office had any idea of his whereabouts. You know… for… " She pauses, quickly inventing an alibi, "y'know, cause I wanted to go out today and I figured I should avoid wherever he's expected to be. Especially with my habit of wandering around the Narrows…" She bites her lip and glances up at her fiance, who's looking so stern that she's worried he might push her right out of bed.

"You _know _how I feel about that," he replies darkly.

"You know how I like to pay my tribute to the homeless," says Melody in a sing-song tone of voice. She exits the bed and stands up to begin undressing, ignoring the feeling of John's eyes boring a hole into her back as she turns opposite of him.

"Well, if it's any motivation to let the homeless fend for themselves for a bit, that's where he's been spotted last." John sounds gravely serious and his jaw is set in some kind of frustration, which Melody takes notice of. He's probably grinding his teeth, a bad habit he'd grown accustomed to whenever feelings of anger or irritability arose. "Mel, I want you to absolutely promise me that you _will not _go to the Narrows. On a regular day it's bad enough, but in these circumstances…" He trails off, and Melody grimaces at his use of the expression "these circumstances." It reminds her of the infuriatingly incompetent Doctor Meyers.

"I promise, babe," says Melody sweetly, fitting a shirt over her abdomen. After she's finished dressing, she turns to face John, who is standing by the door with a certain hesitance to leave. He looks undoubtedly uncertain, so Melody makes her way over to him and pecks him on the cheek. "Really, babe. Would I lie to you?"

XXX

Melody has always been intrigued by the Narrows, not fearful, even before her accident. Wandering their damp, unpredictable alley ways and investigating many of the tiny shops (in which many of them drugs were inevitably sold in the back rooms) had always giving her something of a rush, a sense of adventure, and immediate shot of adrenaline that was always able to heighten her senses and raise her blood pressure. While some people enjoyed rollercoaster's to achieve these sensations, Melody preferred to wander about questionable areas of the city. It made things interesting, if anything. And after being raised in the privileged white suburbs of Gotham until she was eighteen-years-old, stepping on the lesser privileged and living off whatever it his her father did to approach the height of wealth (she could never remember exactly, nor did she care to), anything even slightly interesting was enough to rattle her senses.

It is this exact reason that upon Melody's arrival to the Narrows, she is instantly infuriated.

When she steps foot into the Narrows, she does not feel that familiar rush or adrenaline or anything she was hoping she could still _feel_, at least to some extent. Her throat suddenly tied into a tight discomfort-inspired knot as she realized that she would never again feel said adrenaline. That she was incapable of physically _producing _the adrenaline that she so craved. That her amygdala was completely fucked up and not only had it taken the defense mechanism of fear away from her, but every other branching emotion as well.

She makes no effort to hesitate punching the nearest street lamp as hard as she can when her anger begins to overwhelm her. And even when she does gaze down on her ragged, bleeding knuckles and realizes that it's likely she may have potentially sprained them, she embraces the pain, rather than rejects it. At this point, physical pain gives her a very "real" feeling that she had grown distant from since her accident. Without fear, as unpleasant as it could be, she does not feel real.

And without the help of a certain psychotic ex-psychiatrist, it's very likely possibility she that will never feel _real _without some sort of physical stimulation ever again. Her mind wanders briefly back to her days in junior high, where her peers would deliberately cut themselves then show off their scars as though they were a trend, or a new tattoo, something to be proud of. But then there were certain individuals who would gaze around with obvious discomfort at the mention of the topic, pulling their sleeves high above their wrists to cover whatever was hidden underneath. She knew they were the ones who were really suffering, even at such a young age. But still, she could never wrap her head around ever hurting herself to ease emotional pain. She never understood how exactly that _worked_, but now, eight years after the incidents in junior high, she's finally beginning to comprehend what it did and how it was useful. And even worse, she's _considering _it.

"Hey, hey-ya, girlie!" Melody brushes her fingers over her cut up hand and rubs the blood between them before looking up. Ahead of her, nearby the entrance of an alley, is a thin, torn-up old man with several rows of crooked, yellowing teeth, and a unibrow to top it off. "Girlie, didja hear me?! You look like a, ah, well-respected young citizen. These kids back here need help! Lend a hand, would you?" He smiles a crooked, nervous grin in her direction, and Melody nods before coming toward him.

"Where are they? The kids?"

"Couple uh alleyways down! Follow me!" He begins sprinting down the street behind him, and Melody struggles to keep up, mentally noting to herself that she should considering working out more, _especially _if she can't even keep up with an emaciated homeless man. After trekking down a series of alleyways, the sound of shrieking and sobbing in the distance becomes evident, and eventually they reach a vacant parking lot where one teenaged boy stands crying and begging and raking his fingernails against his skin in order to rid himself of something that no one else can see. His friend kneels beside him, clutching the boy by his shoulder, shaking him and shouting, "James, you're okay! James, it's not real. You got this, buddy, it's all gonna be okay. You'll come outta this soon enough…"

Melody kneels down beside the boy, panting slightly. "Who did this?"

"That nut job on TV!" shrieks the homeless fellow. "The Arkham escapee!"

"Crane? Crane was here?" says Melody. She gazes around erratically, as though to catch site of Crane somewhere in the distance, but when she spots no one, she asks in a hurry, "Where is he? Which way did he go?"

The homeless man points to the left, down a particularly sinister-looking alleyway. Not that Melody cares. "In that direction of sorts! But you're… you're not thinking of going after him, are ya? He eats girls like you for lunch!"

Melody pays no response to the man, but instead immediately begins sprinting in the direction he'd gestured to, amazed at her suddenly ability to run when it is something she wants that she's running after. She eventually reaches the supposed alleyway Crane has disappeared into, and searches every corner, but when she could not find any other trace of human life, she emits a pitiful groan of frustration and shouts, "Crane! Johnathan Crane!"

A beat.

"JOHNATHAH CRANE!" she screams.

When she is once again given no response, she attempts a different method.

"Scarecrow!"

There's a rustle in the corner of the alleyway. Melody approaches the sound quickly, as though she were hunting game and didn't want to scare it off. "I know you're there," she says loudly.

Moments later, a figure emerges from the shadows, and she's pleased to see it is _exactly _the man she's looking for.

The pair stand several feet apart. Melody examines him, taking note of the canisters attached to his wrists. She assumes that their contents are his infamous fear toxin, which means trouble for her, but she's rather indifferent about the whole thing.

"You're taller in person," says Melody calmly.

Without hesitation, Scarecrow makes a swift movement, dousing Melody with a particularly fierce dose of his toxin. Rather than witnessing any particular fear or phobia, she simply feels foggy and dizzy, and her surroundings begin to unravel before her. Colors are misfit, the alleyway is spinning in complete circles, and small black dots begin swimming in her vision.

Before she can realize what exactly is happening, she collapses to the ground with a sickening _thud_.

XXX

Read and review please :3

Also, after I reviewed this chapter I realized that about halfway through it, I completely switched from second person POV to third person POV without noticing. I looked back and corrected everything I could, but if I missed a few things, please don't be too hard on me. I'm _far _better with third person POV and first person POV, but because I rarely use second person POV, I'm trying it out for this story.


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